Eight to Twelve
by Hisa-Ai
Summary: "On a scale from 1-10, how attractive would you say Merlin is?"


_Eight to Twelve_

* * *

*.*.*.*.*

Gwaine often called all his friends over to drink and get stupid with him whenever he bored of the bar, and Arthur was _usually_ more than happy to accept his invitation—getting pissed with his friends wasn't the worst way to spend an evening, after all. And on the nights when **_Mer_** _lin_ happened to accept Gwaine's invitation as well… well, it was an even better way to spend the evening.

But on the evenings when he was too busy with something or another to attend said get-togethers… well, there were better ways Arthur could have been spending his time, really, despite the fun he might have been having anyway.

 _Especially_ when Gwaine took advantage of Merlin's absence to screw with Arthur, the brat.

"On a scale from 1-10, how attractive would you say Merlin is?" Gwaine asked on one such evening when Merlin wasn't there, leaning back on his couch and grinning wickedly around the room, a little _too_ pleased as he asked the question, Arthur thought.

A ripple of laughter shot around the room, and most eyes shifted to Arthur, the question more meant for him than anyone else and they all bloody well _knew it._

"No," Arthur said simply, stubbornly, the light-hearted feeling of the evening and laughter and alcohol leaving him when the realization that it was once again time for his so-called _friends_ to tease him about his crush on Merlin crept up on him. Of course, he should have been expecting as much, the night had been far too pleasant and fun so far, and since wasn't there, he should have been expecting the conversation to take that turn sooner or later, should have known that it would. He'd been hoping against it, but knowing his friends as he did, hoping for that hadn't been realistic or wise.

" _No_ you don't think he's attractive?" Leon asked innocently, giving Arthur a confused look.

" _No_ , I'm not playing this stupid game. You already know I'm into him, this won't prove anything."

"It'll prove how _hot_ you think he is." Gwaine insisted.

"You already _know_ —"

"Just give us a number and we'll let it go," Elyan promised, giving Arthur a look that promised just the opposite of what his words had.

Arthur sighed, stubborn but still relenting with the hopes that perhaps he was reading that look wrong, as he said, "With his mouth shut, he's a solid ten. When he starts talking, he drops to an eight. When he's pissed off at me and I want him to shove me against a wall and do unspeakable things to me, he's a twelve. Now can we move on? I'm sure there's much more interesting topics to discuss than how attractive I think Merlin is," he insisted, taking a swig of his drink to try to hide the flush he suddenly felt, not needing his friends to have any other reason to laugh at him right now.

"Not when how attractive you think he is includes the phrase _unspeakable things_ ," Gwaine grinned, raising his eyebrows teasingly.

"Gwaine's right, Arthur, the phrase _unspeakable things_ changes things a bit, we can't just let it go without finding out more about these _unspeakable things_ ," Percival agreed with an earnest nod, eliciting an eyeroll from Arthur.

 _Children_ , his closest friends were all fucking _children_.

"God, what do you want me to do, detail every single one of my fantasies involving Merlin? I'm not actually stupid enough to give you lot that sort of information—that's the sort of thing you'd use to blackmail me for decades to come," he told them, setting his half-emptied bottle down on the table in front of him. "So you'll just have to let your imaginations tell you what the phrase _unspeakable things_ could mean. Now are we going to change the subject or should I just leave now so you can discuss mine and Merlin's future without me around to put a damper on things?" He demanded, throwing each of them a hard, Pendragon patented _look_ that told them all he was finished with this conversation one way or another. He'd already told them too much—had already told them far, _far_ too much—it was best to end the conversation before he told them even more than they actually needed to know.

"Fine, princess, have it your way," Gwaine shrugged, disappointed as he slumped down in his seat for a moment before he threw the topic of conversation elsewhere, leaving Arthur thankful, if distracted.

*.*.*.*.*

The scale stayed with Arthur. He didn't know why he couldn't seem to shake the question of Gwaine's that had made him think about numbers in regards to how attracted he was to his best friend, but, well, the words, _On a scale from 1-10, how attractive would you say Merlin is?_ echoed in his mind every damn time he saw Merlin after that night.

But of course— _thankfully_ —Merlin couldn't have known that when Arthur spaced out during conversations, he was trying to place whether that blue shirt upped him to a nine even though he _was_ talking at the current moment. He couldn't have known that when he flashed Arthur that brilliant smile of his, he was definitely an eleven. He couldn't have known that even when he was being a pain in the ass and Arthur didn't think he was anything more than a seven, he was really still an eight—always an eight at least. _At least._

Except when he insulted Arthur's favorite football _team_ , his favorite TV show, his favorite movie, his favorite song, because then he was a six. He was definitely a six whenever he insulted Arthur's favorite football team. Until he flashed Arthur a teasing grin, shook his head, and let out a laugh at the look on Arthur's face, indignant and offended as he spat out his retorts and defenses of his favorites—because then he was an eight once again and all was right in the world, even when everything was still so very wrong.

And it was _wrong_ because he should not have been thinking of Merlin as an eight or a nine or an eleven or a twelve or any sort of number—it wasn't _normal_ to think of one's best friend every moment of every day as a number, wasn't normal to rank how attractive they were every time you saw them. It wasn't normal and it was all Gwaine's fault, he sulked to himself in moments between being with Merlin and thinking about numbers.

And even though Merlin wasn't in his room with him just then as he sat sulking and pouting and cursing Gwaine's name, he still knew without a doubt that, just a few blocks away, Merlin was sat in his kitchen or bedroom doing something or another that wasn't important or particularly interesting in the scheme of things, and he was still very much at least an eight while he was doing it, maybe a nine if he was still wearing the jeans he'd been wearing when Arthur saw him earlier that day.

Gwaine was going to _suffer_ for inflicting this scale and rating system on Arthur's mind. He didn't know _how_ or what he was going to do to his friend in retaliation, but God was he going to do _something_.

*.*.*.*.*

Arthur's problem of figuring out how to seek revenge on Gwaine didn't get too much thought expended on it—the problem of how to stop thinking of Merlin in terms of numbers and attractiveness came first.

But, ah, even _that_ didn't see too much light of day, didn't get too much time spent on it; how could he figure out how to stop thinking of Merlin like that when he was too _busy thinking of Merlin like that?_ It was far too tricky of a situation, and Arthur hated both Gwaine and Merlin with every fiber of his being.

Because Merlin was a nine and half sitting on Arthur's couch with a red pillow tucked to his chest, teeth caught on his bottom lip as he watched the series finale of his favorite program, no more than five minutes left of it to air and not enough time to tie everything off. Arthur could almost _hear_ his thudding heart, anticipation and anxiety and excitement palpable in a way that made Arthur bump him up to a ten just then—and if the bump had _anything_ to do with the short sleeves Merlin was wearing that day, and the way the gripping of the pillow made his arms look ridiculously delectable and sexy...

Well, that was _Gwaine's_ fault. Because Arthur wouldn't have dwelled on any of it for too long before the scale had come into play.

*.*.*.*.*

"I'm going to kill you," Arthur deadpanned, glaring hard at Gwaine one afternoon when Arthur caught him alone for a change. He had plans for their friends to come over that night yet again, and Arthur had decided to show up early for a change to corner the bastard at last.

"What did I do this time?" Gwaine asked, amused and not minding too terribly the threat that had left Arthur.

"Your whole _on a scale from 1-1, how attractive would you say Merlin is?_ bull from that one night has been... fucking with me," he lamented, gesturing vaguely about the room.

Gwaine snorted, "You still thinking about something like that is hardly _my_ fault, princess—and since you're not doing anything, wash those dishes for me, yeah? Might as well put you to work if you're going to threaten me in my own damn home."

Arthur rolled his eyes and fixed Gwaine with a rather unimpressed sort of look. He didn't _want_ to do dishes, he _wanted_ to whine about how Merlin had been a twelve and a half that morning when Arthur had run into him at the coffee shop near their apartments and they'd gotten into it over who should get the last blueberry muffin. But _fine_ , dishes were good too, he supposed, dishes were a distraction, both from frustration and an overwhelming urge to chuck something at Gwaine for acting so blasé about Arthur's internal struggle and pain.

He turned the tap on and turned to give Gwaine another hard look before getting to it; their friends would be there soon enough anyway, he might as well help make the place as presentable as he could since he was there.

Even though he _really_ hated Gwaine just then.

"Alright, so explain to me just how the scale question has been fucking with you," Gwaine prompted then.

"I keep... thinking about it. And Merlin. And how much of an eight or nine or whatever he is," he sighed, wanting to wave his hands about the room with the words, though he resisted when he remembered the soap and sponge and water and _God_ , **why** was he doing Gwaine's dishes? "And... he doesn't know. And do you have _any_ idea how hard it is to be friends with someone when all you can think about is how much of an eleven he would be if he licked his lips at just the right moment? It's... God, I'm disgusted with myself, Gwaine, I'm a Pendragon, and Pendragons do _not_ pine like this—and if you hadn't put that damned scale in my head, I would still only be pining at a healthy level, but _no_ ," he huffed, clicking Gwaine's dishes about as aggressively as he dared with his words, growing increasingly upset the more he spoke.

"If you break my dishes, I'm going to have to steal yours, so be careful; smuggling kitchen knives out in jeans as tight as these is no easy task, and I'd rather not risk it," Gwaine warned.

Arthur turned to Gwaine over his shoulder, lifted his hand to flick water and soap at him before he went back about his washing, only being a bit more careful as he did; with his luck, _he'd_ be the one to have to take Gwaine to the hospital if any sort of incident with his jeans and Arthur's kitchen knives _did_ occur, and that was something he really did _not_ feel like experiencing.

Besides, the look of indignation on Gwaine's face just as the water had hit him had been _far_ more satisfying than clattering dishes about had been anyway.

"If Pendragons don't pine like this," Gwaine began at last, his tone unbothered and unamused at once. "Then I suggest you either _stop_ pining like this, or change your name."

"You're _completely_ useless, aren't you?" Arthur groaned.

"Night's still young, so I guess you'll just have to wait and see," he teased, walking by to slap Arthur on the shoulder.

"What the hell does that even mean? What are you up to?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

"Don't worry about it—you'll thank me later, I promise. And—don't forget to dry and put those away when you're done."

Arthur turned his head to glare at Gwaine yet again, to demand an answer of some sort from him, but he was already leaving the room, and Arthur alone with his damned dishes and thoughts of what Merlin was going to wear that night and if it would make him an eight and a half or a nine, and what he would be after Arthur had a drink or two in him.

And suddenly he found himself wondering, instead, just _what_ he could do to get back at Gwaine while alone in his kitchen. If he got creative enough, he could easily get his revenge before their friends arrived. Or, if he got even _more_ creative, he could have his revenge play out while they were there, or even after, if he would rather Gwaine not spill his scale secret to Merlin in front of everyone.

How much time did he have before their friends arrived anyway?

*.*.*.*.*

Arthur was far too suspicious of Gwaine the entire night, narrowed eyes and suspicious looks thrown his way the entire evening through, cutting clear across the room and through chatter and laughter, his glares met every time Gwaine caught his eye with a sure smirk or wink—just _what_ that bastard was up to, Arthur didn't know, but God if it wasn't making him anxious.

(Though even with all the anxiety and suspicion filling his mind, he still had the moment to note that Merlin was a nine that night, everything about him carefree and wonderful as he laughed and joked with Percy and Leon about something Arthur couldn't be _too_ bothered with, all things considered.)

Arthur spent much of the night like that, suspicious and on-guard and anxious and curious. Whatever it was that Gwaine had planned, he needed to get on with it already so Arthur could get on with his life. The sooner he could safely go back to rating Merlin more thoroughly rather than worrying about what Gwaine had planned, the better, truly— _somehow_.

When Gwaine stood and untangled himself from the conversation he was having that Arthur thought was quite boring really—from the bits of it he was picking up from his eavesdropping, of course—he tensed up, shoulders stiffing and every single bit and part of him on high alert.

This was it, this was when Gwaine was going to make his move and do whatever it _was_ that he was going to do that had made Arthur water down his special, very expensive alcohol that he liked to serve to his _special_ friends who he picked up at bars who, more often than not, wound up staying nights on end with Gwaine, and then long weekends and a quick get-together with his friends before never being seen or heard from ever again. This was the moment that was going to completely ruin Arthur's life and there was nothing he could do to prepare for it other than drink Gwaine's cheap beer and hold his breath—each task completed with a moment's space between them, of course.

Instead of making some sort of announcement to the room, however, instead of declaring that Arthur had it bad for Merlin or that he was some sort of nutter who liked maths a bit _too_ much and wanked to numbers and scales or whatever other sort of nonsense that Gwaine's brain could produce—instead of _any_ of that, he simply found his way over to Merlin and took a seat beside him.

Arthur blinked.

That had certainly been…

Unexpected.

He cocked his head and shushed the nearby Leon, strained against the conversation of the room to hear what Gwaine was on about instead. What the _hell_ was he saying to Merlin? What the hell was he telling Merlin? How could Arthur defend himself or correct whatever misinformation Gwaine was feeding to Merlin if he couldn't even hear what it was Merlin was being _told?_

Suddenly, Gwaine turned and gave Arthur a quick, dismissive look, eyes glossing over him like he didn't really care about Arthur just then and only cared about what was in his general direction. A moment later, Merlin was giving him much the same look, though Arthur flushed under Merlin's glance, though he knew that Merlin didn't quite see him or the color to his cheeks, turning his attention back to Gwaine half a second later as he did.

Right, well, that just confirmed it, didn't it? Whatever Gwaine was talking to Merlin about was going to spell out Arthur's doom. He was just going to have to accept his fate like a man.

Which he would do. Eventually. When he had a moment alone with Merlin. In the meantime, he simply tried to enjoy his drink, his friends, and whatever was on the television screen.

"You look like you're having loads of fun," Merlin said, appearing on the couch next to Arthur without warning, beer in his hand, grin on his face.

"Oh yeah, _tons_ of fun," Arthur nodded, leaning back in his seat and clinking the neck of his bottle against Merlin's. "Aren't you?"

Merlin shrugged, took a sip of his drink and leaned back against the couch as well, looked at Arthur sideways for a long moment that made Arthur's stomach flip. Just _what_ had Gwaine said to Merlin that had him looking at Arthur like that?

"Gwaine said something to me a while ago," Merlin began then, making Arthur's heart stutter nervously, because God, he hadn't been expecting an answer to his silent wondering so _quickly_. "something about… numbers? It was really the most ridiculous shit I have ever—"

"Look," Arthur interrupted suddenly, the words blurting out of him before he could stop himself. If Gwaine, that rat bastard, had sold Arthur out, the only thing he could do was try to explain himself before Merlin told Arthur what a ridiculous bastard he was and that they couldn't be friends anymore. He just needed to tell Merlin that he was an idiot not for saying anything sooner and he shouldn't have let himself get caught up in that damned scale, and when he had, he shouldn't have let it consume him, he should have gone to Merlin about it and laughed it off and gotten on with their lives, and he had fucked up, he knew, because now Merlin knew what a ridiculous, lovestruck idiot Arthur was and that he had it rather bad for Merlin, and he hadn't even heard it from Arthur himself, and if Merlin was going to hear a thing like that, he should have heard it from Arthur himself. He owed their friendship that most, at least.

He _should_ have said all that, he thought, but instead…

"When I told everyone that you're a solid ten with your mouth shut, all I meant was that _sometimes_ you do this thing where you talk that can be really annoying, and you're just… prettier when you don't do it. Until you piss me off and you're a twelve because I want you to shove me against a wall and do unspeakable things to me. And _maybe_ I was wrong about you being an eight when you talk, actually, because you always seem to piss me off when you talk, so maybe you're _always_ a twelve when you talk and—"

" ** _Arthur!_** " Merlin interrupted, grin on his face, flush on his cheeks to match Arthur's. "Gwaine didn't—" he shook his head before he ducked it, seemingly unable to keep his amusement hidden for any moment longer. "tell me any of that—oh my God."

As Merlin chuckled and Arthur's blush deepened, he threw a look across the room to Gwaine, who was watching them, smirk on his face before he tipped his cup back to hide it—that tricky, tricky bastard, Arthur thought before he looked back to Merlin, thoroughly amused and embarrassed at once.

"He didn't?"

"No, he… asked me how I would rate you on a scale from one to ten and I told him he was being ridiculous and there was no way—wait, you said that I drop from a ten to an eight when I—and a twelve when—? What _the hell_ did I miss last time Gwaine had everyone over?" Merlin asked, exasperated as he cocked his head.

Arthur scratched the back of his neck and shook his head, he didn't think he could really answer that, and honestly, he wasn't sure that he would ever be able to look Merlin in the eye ever again. This could very well be the end of their friendship and if it was, Arthur would blame Gwaine for the rest of his miserable, Merlin-less life.

Merlin clinked his beer bottle against Arthur's suddenly, grabbing his attention once again.

"For the record, if I _didn't_ think the rating you on a scale from one to ten is completely ridiculous, I would say you're a ten, too. Except when you open your mouth, because then you drop down to a 7.5. And when you're pissed and I want you to shove me against a wall and do unspeakable things to me, you're a thirteen," he said with a small little teasing smirk.

Mouth suddenly dry, Arthur quirked an eyebrow, his suddenly thudding heart making everything in him feel jittery and nervous. Nevermind the fact that Merlin just _had_ to beat Arthur's numbers and rankings, the fact of the matter was that Merlin thought he was—God.

"Let's go find a wall, then, and I'm sure I'll be able to come up with _something_ to say to make you mad enough you show me some of these _unspeakable things_ , yeah?"

"Yeah," Merlin nodded, the glint in his eyes just then as promising as his smile was shy. "And if you're lucky, _maybe_ I won't even wait for you to make me mad, I'll just… shove you against the wall _just because_ I want to do _unspeakable things_ to you."

Arthur sat his beer down and rose to his feet, not needing any more promise or prompting in the world as he held his hand out to pull Merlin to his feet as well. With his hand replacing the drink Merlin sat down next to Arthur's own, Arthur tugged Merlin away from their friends to somewhere a bit more secluded with a sturdy enough wall; he knew Gwaine's place well enough, he was _sure_ they would be able to find something to suit their needs rather quickly.

He wasn't sure whether Gwaine would appreciate what they were about to do against one of his walls, but, well, just then, Arthur couldn't be bothered to care _too_ terribly about what Gwaine would or wouldn't appreciate, not with Merlin's promise on his ears and a plan to ask him out all proper like after the fact on his mind.

Besides, Gwaine had as good as encouraged this, he would probably be glad to hear about it.

And if not… they would just have to deal with his consequences _later_.

*.*.*.*.*


End file.
